


The Devil is in the Details

by bees_stories



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Crossdressing, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Humour, John Watson is a Saint, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mycroft IS the British Government, POV John Watson, Sexual Fantasy, Sherlock Being Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 22:10:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3334628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bees_stories/pseuds/bees_stories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock takes on a case for Mycroft, he plays his part to the hilt. When the case is concluded, John learns of the broad strokes of the case the hard way, but finds to his amusement, that as usual, the devil is in the details.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil is in the Details

***

John shoved his phone back into his dressing gown pocket, took a deep breath, and then he let it out again. Nope. He was still angry. Ten solid minutes of verbal abuse before his first cuppa in the morning had that effect. He stalked into the living room and confronted the object of his ire.

"You've pulled some stupid stunts in your time, Sherlock," John said as calmly as he could manage. "but this really really takes the biscuit. Have you finally, completely, lost your mind?" 

Sherlock lowered his newspaper far enough to look over it. He seemed remarkably unperturbed, which was just … infuriating. He reached for his cup, took a sip, and then returned it to the side table before replying. 

"I do wish you'd waste less time with rhetorical questions, John. If you truly thought I had lost possession of my faculties then you would be busy doing your duty as my personal physician, as well as my designated next of kin, and making the necessary arrangements to have me sanctioned, rather than standing there getting ready to unleash a second-hand bollocking from Lestrade." 

John glared suspiciously. "How did you know – " 

Sherlock shrugged. "Who else would it have been? The tea is on the sideboard. Pour a cup and sit down. Rules or no, we're likely to have a visit from Sally Donovan. And Mycroft is certainly bound to appear sooner or later."

There was no point in rushing Sherlock when he didn't want to be rushed. John got his tea and he sat down, his temper still simmering. 

Sherlock smiled knowingly. "You're only peeved because you were left out of last night's adventure. Otherwise, you would have let Lestrade's dressing down roll of your back like water off a duck's." 

"You think so?" John shot back. 

Sherlock shook his head. "Another rhetorical question. But since you asked, I know so."

"All right," John conceded, because Sherlock wasn't wrong, as usual. "So enlighten me. Tell me why I shouldn't ring round and arrange a sanity hearing." 

"Last night I was on a case. For Mycroft," Sherlock began. "It required me to pay a visit to the Marchioness Club, which is a very exclusive, very private, very women only, establishment for those of exotic tastes. No men are allowed on the premises." 

John gave Sherlock a sideways look. "So you – " 

Sherlock shrugged offhandedly in return, as if it was patently obvious. "Disguised myself as a woman." 

John tried not to gape. He took a hasty gulp of tea and choked on it. "Of course," he sputtered. 

Sherlock nodded. "You can see why I couldn't invite you along. I might have been able to turn you into a passable imitation of your sister, but there was no time to tutor you about your walk. It would have given us both away instantly." 

John was busy trying to visualise Sherlock in drag and succeeding a little too well. "My walk," he said distractedly as he tried to banish the image of a female Sherlock and concentrate on the recounting of events. "What is wrong with the way I walk?"

"Nothing. Your walk is perfectly fine if you're Doctor John Watson. Or even Captain John Watson. But for Ms Joan Watson, it's all wrong." Sherlock put his cup aside. "If you like, I can demonstrate." 

_Sherlock in stockings and black satin suspenders. Swaying his hips as he paraded around the flat in Jimmy Choos with stiletto heels..._

"Maybe later," John said sharply. "Why? Why were you there?" 

"Because as usual with Mycroft, some clerk had been talked into turning over sensitive documents to a government hostile to our own. " Sherlock pulled an annoyed face. "The details are boring and not relevant." 

"It didn't occur to Mycroft to send in a female agent?" John asked, although he suspected he should have known better. 

"The documents were highly sensitive," Sherlock replied. "And you know how Mycroft can be about admitting he made an error in judgement."

So Mycroft had known the clerk who had taken the documents. John felt like he was beginning to get a handle on at least some of the complexities of the situation. Given that Mycroft seemed to have a personal connection to the matter, that he would put Sherlock on the case was almost a knee jerk reaction. Although it didn't account for Greg Lestrade's ire. 

"So you infiltrated a kinky women's club and stole back some government documents." John nodded to show he was following along. "Perfectly normal." 

Sherlock's expression became disgruntled. "Yes, John, on the face of it. But as usual in these matters, the devil is in the details. Isn't it." 

Of course it was. Because this was Sherlock, and nothing was ever as simple as it seemed. John refilled his tea cup and settled in. "Then you better explain." 

"Sally Donovan was there, presumably on another matter. If not, then someone needs to have a look into her financial dealings. It's not the sort of place she could comfortably afford to visit on a police officer's wages. I saw her in the audience when I was on stage. "

"You were on stage? For real?"

Sherlock gave John an impatient glare. "On stage. Performing. Yes." 

John's mental picture of Sherlock in suspenders reasserted itself. He wondered, if he asked nicely, if he could get Sherlock to show him just what sort of act he had done. He shook his head and shifted in his chair. "Sorry. Go on." 

Sherlock gave John another knowing smile. "Which do you wish to know more about, John, my method acting or the case?"

Damn the man. Sherlock could read him like a book. He smiled back, caught out, and then sobered. If Sally Donovan was coming then he probably should be in possession of all of the facts. Or at least the ones that weren't official secrets.

"Tell me about the case," John said. "You can show me the disguise … later." He put just enough leer into his inflection to let Sherlock know that he expected a complete encore performance.

"I got close enough to the clerk to steal her bag, and that's when things unravelled a bit. The woman raised the alarm, and Sally reacted as a police officer. She gave chase. It was necessary to cause multiple diversions, one of which involved an MP. Another a minor royal. I got away. Obviously." 

"Obviously," John agreed with dry amusement. "Otherwise you'd be up before a magistrate." 

Sherlock's expression turned introspective. "Somehow, she recognised me." He frowned contemplatively and then he brightened. "Of course! I think it must have been the shape of my ear. Sally despises me personally, but she's a keen reader of my monographs, and I've noticed more than once that she incorporates my methodology. That was sloppy of me. I shall have to remember to change them in future." 

Sherlock shrugged expansively as the doorbell rang. "And that's it, really. By reacting to my slip up, Sally gave herself away. So naturally, she feels a need to exact some small retribution."

"Hence the call from Lestrade?" 

Sherlock poured more coffee and settled in his chair. "As you say, hence the no doubt highly distorted call from Lestrade."

"I wondered why you came through my bedroom window at 3AM. Not that I minded." John smiled in remembrance of Sherlock's early morning arrival. 

There was the sound of feet on the stairs. Sherlock tipped his head towards the doorway. "I resorted to the roof tops and then the fire escape. Just in case Sally decided to be persistent."

Mycroft tapped lightly on the door frame and then entered. He nodded politely at John and then looked at his brother. "Well?" 

Sherlock reached over to the side table and lifted the cover from a silver tray, revealing a delicately fashioned, apricot satin handbag. He held it out to Mycroft. "I believe this is yours." 

Mycroft gave his brother an unamused smile. "No. It's not my colour, but I'll take charge of it all the same."Did you have any difficulty recovering it?"

"Given that you disavow any connection to me during these assignments, would it matter if I said that I had?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft's mouth twitched and then flattened into an inscrutable line. "Touché." 

"All the same," Sherlock said. "Would you have a quiet word with Lestrade? It might simplify matters." 

Mycroft frowned at a potential complication, and then he nodded. His phone chimed and he sighed as he glanced at his watch. "That will be the Prime Minister." He tucked the handbag under his jacket. "Must dash." With an incline of his head to the room at large, he turned on his heel and made a rapid exit. 

Sherlock rose. "There. That's the police sorted. Now, if you'd care to get dressed, I believe it might be better to repair to some place where we won't be disturbed." He turned a speculative gaze on John. "That is if you'd like a private showing of last night's disguise." 

John licked his lips and smiled broadly. "What do you think?"

end


End file.
